Whiskey Lullaby
by ironniek
Summary: 'The angels sang a Whiskey Lullaby' Warning; Character death, and suicide, as well as alcoholism.


Hello hello! Well I had this idea for a fic based on the song Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley, Alison Krauss. You should totally listen to that because it's a beautiful song.

It's probably AU because it basically contains Sherlolly. It may be a litte ooc but ssssh. Also I suck at summary's. so idk what to say.

I should warn you for character deaths and alcohol use.

* * *

''I am so sorry'' were her last words to him before she left. He was left behind sitting on his knees looking confused and broken. And this reminded him why he always hid behind his work, to never feel this pain. To never experience the feeling of losing someone.

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper, often called 'the perfect couple' but little did those people know they were not in any way like that. What started out as a friendship soon became a partnership. And after that a relationship. Until now because now, there is nothing.

_She put him out,_

_Like the burning end of a midnight cigarette._

_She broke his heart,_

_He spent his whole life trying to forget._

_We watched him drink his pain away, a little at a time,_

_But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind,_

_Until the night..._

''Molly, don't leave.. please just.. why?'' he said with a pleading voice, sounding actually desperate. How could she still do this when he was talking like that. ''I.. I just can't handle this Sherlock'' he still looks confused. ''Why don't you get it? You put your life in danger every day and you expect me to watch? To just let you go and play stupid detective.'' His eyes turn sad then. ''Why didn't you say sooner.. I could have fixed that. Fixed us'' Molly just shook her head. ''You can't fix everything Sherlock.'' She manages to say and turns around. Sherlock quickly gets on his feet and walks over to her, grabbing her wrist. ''We can figure this out.. just.. please don't leave.'' She shook her head again. ''I know you won't give up working as a consultant detective, and I know why but I just.. can't do this anymore Sherlock.'' He shakes his head ''Don't try to lie to me Sherlock, I know you. You wouldn't give up.'' He loosens his grip on her wrist then not even able to say anything. He looks completely broken and Molly almost changes her mind there but she shakes the thought of it out of her head. She can't live like this anymore.

''I am so sorry'' she says and touches his cheek before shaking his hand off and walking away, leaving him behind. Sherlock dropped to his knees then and for maybe the first time his brain leaves him alone. He feels completely numb and for also the first time in his life, doesn't know what to do. When he does finally get up he moves to the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey, not even bothering to grab a glass and drinking straight from the bottle. Seeking comfort in alcohol.

_He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger,_

_And finally drank away her memory._

_Life is short, but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength he had to get up off his knees._

John and Lestrade would often come to visit him. Trying to get him to do something. Work on a case again and he would come with them. Not willing to show the weakness. When he solved a case it would help but as soon as he came home he would grab another bottle of alcohol and drink it empty. Once a week Mrs. Hudson would come upstairs to clean up the empty bottles and nag about the fact she wasn't his nanny. It would cheer him up a little but as soon as she was out of the apartment he would just collapse again.

He would do his experiments at night time so he would not bump into Molly. Not wanting to cause any more pain. Cause her anymore pain even though he was the one who was hurt the most here. Little did Sherlock know that Molly didn't get on with her life.

And of course on one of his worst nights John would come over and trying to get him out again. ''John will you just leave me alone for once'' he groans as he turns around on the couch hiding his face in a pillow like a child would do ''I don't want to go outside'' he mumbles into the pillow.

''Sherlock you can't keep doing this, You need to get out again.'' John tries to say calmly because he isn't actually that calm. Sherlock just snorts into the pillow and shakes his head a little. ''She misses you, you know.'' John says abruptly not even thinking about that. Sherlock freezes and holds in his breath before he is reminded that he needs oxygen. ''Dull'' he groans into his pillow, hiding his feelings again and he stays completely still.

''You don't mean that.'' John says letting the gentleness in his voice slip away. ''Will you just leave'' Sherlock groans and shifts a little on the couch. "No I will not until you stop acting childish and come with me out of this stupid apartment'' It takes a while before Sherlock answers again and he turns on the couch.

''Oh you haven't left yet?'' he sounds a bit normal actually and he looks questioning at John. ''Sherlock I..'' but he is interrupted by Sherlock who started to shout and standing up. ''Will you just leave'' he shouts and it isn't a question this time. John puts his hands up in defense and stands up to walk away. When John left the apartment Sherlock grabbed another bottle of alcohol and sank back into the couch. He tightened his fingers around the neck of the Jack Daniel's in his hand. The amber liquid burned all the way down. It was enough to numb the pain, but it wasn't enough to forget. It was never enough to forget.

_We found him with his face down in the pillow,_

_With a note that said, 'I'll love her 'til I die'._

_And when we buried him beneath the willow,_

_The angels sang a Whiskey Lullaby._

John knew he should not have left when he did. But somehow he didn't want to care. He tried a lot of things and mostly it worked but apparently not today. He should have known Sherlock was having one of his bad days and he should have known not to leave him alone on this day.

Things went further downhill from that day on and they didn't hear from Sherlock at all. Until Lestrade got a phone call from Mrs. Hudson.

She went into the apartment to do the usual clean up but Sherlock wasn't in the living room on the couch where he usually was. She went to check his bedroom and there she found him. At first she thought he was asleep but she didn't hear any breathing. Neither was he moving in any way. She moved to take his pulse but there was none. Then she panicked and called Lestrade who came over as quickly as he could. But they were too late already, the great Sherlock Holmes was already dead.

Lestrade noticed there was a piece paper in his fist and carefully took that out. Unfolding it but when he read the name above the words that were written on the paper he folded it again. That is when Molly walked in ''Hey I was looking for..'' but she immediately stopped talking when she saw Sherlock lying on the bed. Holding back her tears she looked over to Lestrade but already knowing what was going on. Lestrade handed her the piece of paper and she unfolded it.

_Molly,_

_You should not feel sorry, but I should. I put you through a lot and I didn't notice. I should have noticed and that is why I am truly sorry. Which also means that if you read this I finally got rid of myself._

_Which I am also sorry for because I am leaving you alone again. I could not function like this knowing you were so close but also so far away._

_Will you keep in mind that I will love you, forever. I would say 'til I die which is true but that sounds dull._

_I hope there is somewhere a small spot for me in heaven where I will, hopefully, meet you again._

_SH_

She folded the paper neatly and put it carefully in the pocket of her coat. And walked over to Sherlock. She wasn't crying yet, that would come later. She sat on her knees beside Sherlock on the bed. Gently stroking his black curls for the last time, trailing her finger tips over his back for the last time, breathing in his scent for the last time. Even though not really being with him, she feels that way. Spending time in his presence for the last time, stroking his cheek for the last time. She stayed with his body till they had to eventually drag her away because they needed to take his body. That was when the crying started, tears flooding out of her eyes. Never ending tears.

John also arrived because Lestrade called him, of course he would. John couldn't move when he saw Sherlock his body lying on that bed, completely empty. He couldn't move when he saw how hurt Molly was. He couldn't move when Molly started to cry and he couldn't give her the support she needed. He could only blame himself.

The day they held the memorial service for Sherlock was one filled with tears and kind words. When they finally reached the cemetery it was raining. Molly couldn't help but find it slightly amusing that even mother nature seemed to be mourning the loss of the man. She was silent the whole ceremony but couldn't shed a tear.

Once everyone left she found herself standing in front of his grave stone. ''If only I had been 2 days earlier Sherlock. I came to you that day because John told me what was happening to you. You acted so brave in front of everyone I didn't know you were that hurt.'' Tears stared streaming out of her eyes again. ''I came to you to give us a second change but I was too late.'' She stopped talking then because the crying was getting worse. She then glanced up at the willow tree they buried him beneath. She sighed and turned away to leave. Taking one last glance at his grave before walking away, back to her car and sped towards her apartment where she knew that a bottle of vodka was waiting.

_The rumors flew,_

_but nobody knew how much she blamed herself._

_For years and years,_

_she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath._

_She finally drank her pain away a little at a time,_

_But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind,_

_Until the night .._

John felt his heart breaking as he was forced to watch another one of the people he cares about fall into a downward spiral. Molly never left her apartment, slept next to never and rarely ate. She had a few things that belonged to Sherlock. She owned his violin now and a couple of his books. She didn't dare to take more but she also didn't need more. The note he left her she kept safe in a small box, locked away. She didn't read it again but she just could not throw it away. It was too precious, it was the last thing he wrote. And it was utterly beautiful. But every time she would think about it, it would only hurt more. And she would drink more.

John and, often Lestrade, visited once a week just as Mrs. Hudson did with Sherlock to clean up empty bottles and trying to motivate her. Where John would get Sherlock out to work on a case he couldn't do that with Molly. He felt utterly useless as he watched her fall into a black hole.

One week she even went to spouting nonsense when John was over to clean up. She wouldn't leave the couch and was talking about Sherlock being her prince on a white horse. Her knight in shining armour, her hero. ''When have you ever referred to Sherlock Holmes as a hero'' John could only say

_She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger_

_And finally drank away his memory_

_Life is short but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength she had to get up off her knees_

_We found her with her face down in the pillow_

_Clinging to his picture for dear life_

John was the one to find her. Her body was lying on the couch an empty bottle in one hand and a picture of Sherlock and her in the other. Clutched to her chest actually. He didn't even try to take her pulse because he already knew that there was no life in her left. He stood, staring at the scene in front of him and mused that he never got to say goodbye. He didn't get to say goodbye to both of them and he couldn't help to be angry about that. Sherlock left Molly a note but Molly didn't leave anything. There wasn't anything to leave behind anyway.

He called Lestrade and some other people who were close to Molly. As soon as Lestrade arrived John left, he couldn't bear to stay there any longer. Lestrade tried to stop him but he just wanted to get home to his wife who would help him through this.

Lestrade worked here case also. You could not really call it a case because it was already cleared as a suicide but it was the least he could do. He did found a small note which only said 'Don't worry, I am with Sherlock now' clenched in her fist. It was at least something.

She looked rather peaceful even though she was thinner than before. Her face never shined like the way it always did when she looked at Sherlock since the day of his funeral but a little bit of that is back now. He could see it.

_We laid her next to him beneath the willow_

_While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby_

The rain fell softly around the funeral scene. John almost laughed at the similarities between this funeral scene and the one they held for Sherlock. He stood, completely alone, staring at the two headstones that were appropriately placed directly beside each other.

Some movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look up. Underneath the large willow tree he saw Sherlock, his breath catching in his throat. Sherlock smiled broadly at him, warming his soul, and then he extended his hand to someone he could not see yet. Molly stepped out from behind the tree, laced his fingers with hers and kissed his cheek lightly. And then looking both at where John stands. He couldn't help a tear that rolled out of his eyes and he could almost hear Sherlock say 'sentiment? really John?'

He, of course, knew this was not real but he didn't care. He got that goodbye after all and as Sherlock hoped they found each other again.

He watched the two of them walk away into the distance their forms disappearing slowly and after a while completely gone. He smiled and took a last glance at the two head stones before walking away. Knowing that Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper got their happy ending. Not in this world, but in another. And he could deal with that.


End file.
